All-Present?

If God is everywhere, then why isn’t God doing something about this?

“Daddy, how can Jesus be everywhere and be in my heart at the same time?” 

Joshua Failla, at age 4

“Surely God was in this place and I, I didn’t know it!” 

Jacob, Genesis 28:16 

“God, where were you when…?” Me, often…

G O D I S N O W H E R E -- Peter Rollins 

The story doesn’t make sense to me. There’s a huge leap in logic that means there’s some backstory we don’t have access to. But it’s a beautiful story. It not only perplexes me, but it also stirs up a mild jealousy.

It’s found at the end of the first chapter of the Gospel of John.

Three young men, Philip, Peter, and Andrew, had met this man named Jesus, and they were incredibly drawn to him. They saw in him the hope and spirit of the person their whole nation has been waiting for, the one that would be their true king. “We’ve found the one that Moses wrote about! Come and see!” they say to all who will listen.

One of those friends of theirs was a man named Nathanael.

As Nathanael approached Jesus, Jesus made a statement about him to everyone there: “Here is a guy that has nothing insincere about him, a pure heart!”

Caught off guard, Nathanael asked, “How do you know me?”

Jesus responded, “When you were sitting under the fig tree, I saw you.”

I see you Nathanael.

For who you really are.

I.

See.

You.

Nathanael's response is what perplexes me. He doesn’t say: were you walking by and I missed it? Were you spying on me? When did you see me? When were you there? I didn’t see you!

Instead he says: “Truly you’re God's son, the one we’ve been waiting for!”

Why would that be the conclusion he draws? What does seeing him under the fig tree have to do with being the son of God?

We don’t know for sure.

I think that Nathanael was alone under the fig tree with no one around to see him. I think that was part of the point. No one saw him. Or so he thought.

And my friend Johnny May has a theory that makes sense to me: Maybe in Nathanaels aloneness, maybe even loneliness, maybe even desperation, he was there praying and asking God: are you real? Are you there? Do you see me?

Have you ever asked that?

God, do you see me right now? Are you with me?

Jesus' response to Nathanael is even more fascinating: “Do you think I’m the son of God just because I told you I saw you? Of course I saw you! And guess what? You yourself will see the angels coming and going from heaven all around me, showing that in my life is where heaven and earth meet!”

Angels coming and going? Why would that be something Nathanael would be excited to see?

God was in this place and I, I didn’t know it

Nathanael knew exactly what Jesus was talking about.

Thousands of years before, a man named Jacob was resting in the wilderness. He had been sent away from his family. He was in an unfamiliar place. He was weary, so he laid down, with his head on a rock, to sleep. 

And he had a dream. In the dream there was a staircase, starting from the earth and reaching up into the sky. There were spiritual beings, messengers of God, going up and down it. Then suddenly, the Lord was standing on the staircase, and made a promise to Jacob--a promise of protection, of provision, and of presence. 

When Jacob awoke, he was stunned and a little terrified. And he had a significant realization. It’s one that many of us can probably relate to. It’s a realization that comes after the fact, and it brings with it a longing to have been paying more attention, to have known what to look for and how to recognize:

Surely God was in this place and I, I did not know it.

God was here.

I wasn’t alone.

I didn’t see God.

But God saw me.

The whole time.

We might not have had such a dramatic dream, with heavenly messengers and a life-changing promise, but have you ever had one of those moments that, while you’re in it, seems absolutely normal, commonplace, ordinary...and then you realize after that there was something, Someone, about it?

Tsunamis on YouTube

Our son Nathan is a really strong boy, physically and in terms of will and spirit. He hates to be vulnerable, and likes to be in control. He’s a leader, and knows exactly what he wants. Unfortunately for him, he’s the youngest of the three, and as you can imagine, doesn’t always get what he wants.  

One evening he was upset because he couldn’t do something he had his heart set on. He was starting to get aggressive and we could feel his intensity rising. Instead of meeting him in his intensity, or shutting it down, I offered him an invitation. I sat down on the couch, and I put a tsunami video on YouTube. “Would you like to watch this with me?” I asked. He looked at the tv, and slowly started to make his way towards me. (I think it’s interesting that we live by the ocean and he is fascinated, not terrified, by videos of tsunamis!) He sat next to me and little by little he began to soften, to the point where his head was on my chest and his hand in mine. He melted into me, and his demeanor, his energy, and his presence were sweeter, softer, more centered, and more peaceful. We didn’t say much, but he knew he could relax and that he was seen. 

And he knew he was going to be okay.

”You are the God who…”

Genesis 16 tells the story of a lady named Hagar. Hagar was the Egyptian slave of a man named Abraham. At the request of his wife Sarai, Abraham had gotten Hagar pregnant in an attempt to fulfill God’s promise--that Abraham’s descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky (a tough sell when you’re in your 80’s!). Unsurprisingly, things in their household became really complicated, and Sarai wanted to get rid of Hagar (even though the pregnancy was her idea). So Sarai treated Hagar very poorly, and Hagar ran away. 

In the middle of the desert, resting by a spring, God met with Hagar. “Where have you come from, and where are you going?” God asked. (There God goes, asking questions again!) 

“I’m running away from my mistress, Sarai,” Hagar responded.

Then God made a powerful promise to Hagar: “I will make your children more numerous than you can count…” and began to describe the life and relationships her coming son would have. 

Hagar, taken aback by the care and presence of this God, exclaimed: “You are the God who sees me...I have seen the God who sees me!” (Genesis 16:13)   

It’s similar to what God said to Moses, the liberator of the Hebrew people, as God spoke to Moses from the ignited bush: “I have seen the oppression of my people.” (Exodus 3:7) 

What matters isn’t whether God’s there or not. It’s whether God is tuned in. Paying attention. Noticing us. Seeing us.  And God wants us to know that God sees us.

There’s a beautiful example of this in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 9. It says that as Jesus was amongst the crowds, Jesus saw them and had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. Where God's eyes are God's compassion and love follow.

And God's eyes are everywhere.

All-judging and All-disappointed?

By the way, I know that for some of us, the idea that God sees everything might have felt like (or even been used as) a threat. In my house growing up there was a painting on the wall called Whistler’s Mother, of an Amish-looking lady sitting in a rocking chair. Over the painting are the words: God is watching you, and so is your mother.  It was meant to be funny, but as a kid it freaked me out (The God part more than the mom part). The idea that God was everywhere and saw everything meant I couldn’t get away with anything. That God always had something to be disappointed about.

But Matthew 9 didn’t say Jesus saw that they were like sheep without a shepherd and he judged them, or was frustrated with them.

It says he saw them and had compassion on them.

Then he healed them. And when we see Jesus seeing us, it's healing for us too.

All-preoccupied?

When we lived in China, it would occasionally occur to us how crazy it is that God could be with us in China while being with our family in the US and our friends all over the world, all at the same time. It’s pretty cool that God is in Australia and Africa and the Americas all at once. That’s hard to fathom. But to me, the point of God being all present isn’t about space and geography.

But that’s not the kind of presence that really matters to us.

You can be in the same room with someone but be totally absent. Preoccupied. Checking your phone. Thinking about something else. You’re present, but you’re not Present.

God's all presence means that God’s never preoccupied. God’s not worrying about the future. That’s what preoccupied means by the way—to be unnecessarily occupied by something beforehand--which takes you away from the moment. From being present.

When Moses was encountered by God in the ignited bush, he asks God, “who should I say sent me?” God's response: “Tell them ‘I AM’ sent you.” 

Some Hebrew scholars say that this essentially means “I am pure presence/purely in the present.” I AM. Not I was. Or I will be.

Jesus borrows this language when responding to the Pharisees. He tells them before Abraham was (past tense) I AM. Present tense. (See what he did there?)

God is fully in the moment. And God sees you. God notices. God has space for you.

God's all-presence is more relational, emotional, than it is geographical and spatial.

God sees you. And where God's eyes are, God's compassion is flowing. 

God in a garden, God in a box?

At the beginning of the story, the book called Genesis, we find God in a garden. Walking, talking, and relating to the humans and creatures. And when the humans need to be removed from the garden, we find God present to them outside of the garden as well. God has stuck with them and remains present to them. God was with Cain, even when he murdered his brother. God was with Noah. And Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God was with Joseph. It’s all guys because of the patriarchal culture of the time. God was with the women too (remember Hagar, above?)

By the time of Moses, there’s this sense that God's presence is a potent, sacred thing, and God's presence becomes concentrated in a pillar of fire, and a cloud. Then a tabernacle, which then evolved into a temple. God was in a box, so that the people knew how to relate to God and where to find God. And it remains this way for thousands of years. 

Then Jesus comes on the scene and challenges the role of the Temple, and prophesies that it will be torn down. It was on top of a mountain (temples always were) and Jesus says if you have faith the size of a mustard seed you can say to this mountain (while probably pointing to the Temple Mount) be cast into the sea and it will be done. Jesus knew that a temple was not where God's presence was meant to remain. 

When Jesus is killed, the Bible tells us that the temple curtain was torn in half from top to bottom. It’s often taught that the significance of that is that humans are now free to go in—that there is full access to God's presence, the place they called The Holy of Holies. That’s powerful and beautiful. Humans can now access the fullness of the Presence of God. 

But humans now entering in is not the full story. 

Even more incredible to me is that the tearing of the curtain means that God's presence can come out. 

God is no longer boxed in. 

And when God's presence comes out of the temple, it’s interesting to note where it ultimately concentrates and lands—inside the hearts and gatherings of people. 

People become the new temple. The new place where God's presence lands in the world. 

Have you ever had a great conversation with someone but still wondered if God saw you, or was paying attention? If God cared? 

God was present to you. Through that person. 

They were participating in God’s concern and care for you. 

God cares for us through the care of others.

How beautiful to be able to say Surely God is in this place, and I know it. I’m experiencing it.

I have seen the God that sees me.

Reflection Questions:

• When was the last time you noticed God noticing you?

• How aware are you of God caring for others through you, your presence, your care for them? 

• What happens when you ask God, “do you see me?” What do you sense? What do you hear? What do you feel?